


Pretty Things

by coldfusion9797



Category: Sons of Liberty (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fade to Black, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28789836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldfusion9797/pseuds/coldfusion9797
Summary: John extends an invitation to Sam, hoping it will allow them to reconnect.
Relationships: Samuel Adams/John Hancock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Pretty Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TreasureHunterGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreasureHunterGirl/gifts).



Finally, this is what he’s been waiting for. The war was long and bloody, and yes, winning their independence was the ultimate prize, but in his heart of hearts, John cannot deny that he still loves beautiful things, that he feels most at peace when he is surrounded by opulence and extravagance. It may be a British thing to think, but it’s a fact; pretty things make him happy. Things such as this fine house. 

And while that part of his character may have remained unaltered, a part of him had changed, because when once he was content to bask in it alone, all the joy derived from possessing, now he feels a need to share it. 

Unfortunately, the war had not only taken a toll on the people, but on his relationship with Sam as well. Sam expected him to be a pauper, to give everything he had to the cause, but John hadn’t seen why him being devoid of everything grand or lovely should help usher in Sam’s victory any quicker. Hadn’t he given enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough already? He had blood on his hands, blood he had spilled for Sam.

But the thing was, the thing he could never have concocted in his wildest dreams, was that he hadn’t known the depths of suffering until Sam had been out of reach. Every day without him was an utter torment, one that the lavishness he surrounded himself with only managed to ease, never erase.

So now, with the war over, and their new country secure, John is determined to right the wrong, to reconnect with Sam, and hopefully teach him a thing or two as well. Perhaps make him understand that an appreciation of beauty is more than vanity, and to see if Sam has suffered from the separation too.

He had invited Sam to dinner at the mansion, and fussed incessantly over every detail. The food, the table settings, cutlery, crockery, decorations. Everything had to be perfect, everything had to be what he thought would be pleasing to Sam.

With the knock on the door heralding Sam’s arrival, John’s heart leaps into his throat. He runs a hand over his lavender coat to smooth it, touches his wig to make sure it is in place, then nods to the servant to open the door. 

And then suddenly, there is Sam, and it’s as though the years apart just fall away, and they are back at congress, a united team, and John can’t prevent the smile that blooms on his face. 

Immediately he notices that Sam is wearing a new suit, finely tailored, though it is his ubiquitous brown. John refrains from commenting because his love of fine clothes was half the reason they fell out.

“Sam, it is so good to see you.” 

Perhaps he should be angry, that Sam couldn’t accept him for who he was, but all he feels is joy at having him within reach again. 

“You look well,” Sam offers after a moment’s pause.

“Thank you,” John accepts with a flourish. “Please, Sam, do come in.”

Sam steps inside, runs a critical eye around the lavish room. Any other man might tread a little carefully, show a little awe for the splendour of the place he finds himself in, but not Sam Adams. He strides across the room, as sure and purposeful as the day they met, still appearing to be on a mission, despite the fact that their great mission is complete. They have already accomplished the impossible. And perhaps it should bother John, that Sam can’t relax, can’t let the past go, but it doesn’t. It lights a fire in his belly, to know that Sam is still the same intense, forthright man he fell in love with. 

And then finally, Sam lets those deep, dark eyes fix on him. John’s heart beats faster, having that gaze on him always felt like being in the path of some inescapable force, that Sam could see into the very heart of him.

Presently, Sam extends a hand, which John shakes, his breath catching at the touch.

John turns away, making a pretence of going for some wine, just needing a moment to school his face into something a touch less smitten. 

“Would you like a drink?” he offers, willing his hand to stop trembling as he reaches for the crystal decanter.  
He manages to pour himself a generous serve, and the same for Sam, turning back towards him, glass in hand, only to find Sam much closer than he expected him to be.

“H... Here,” he says, tripping over the word when Sam’s fingers brush his as he takes the drink. 

“Thank you,” Sam says, too much gravitas in his voice for him to be merely talking about the wine. 

“Of course,” John nods, a quick, jerking motion, because as if he could ever stay mad at Sam or refuse him anything. “Shall we go into the dining room?”

That dark gaze lingers on him a moment longer, then Sam follows him into the next room.

John takes his seat at the head of the table, and offers Sam the seat to his right, the place reserved for guests of honour. The etiquette is probably lost on Sam, who never cared much for manners or ceremony, but it pleases John to have Sam seated there all the same.

He feels that lovestruck smile threatening to bloom on his face again, but at least sitting at the table, there are boundaries, and Sam isn’t going to be able to sneak up on him, which gives John a sporting chance at getting himself under control. 

For a moment there is silence between them, it’s not unusual on Sam’s part, who only speaks when he has something important to say, and John’s mind scrambles for the right thing to say, deciding it’s probably too early in the evening to say what he really wishes to.

Sam’s eyes roam over the table setting, his fingers singling out the silver fish knife. 

“That’s de Lamerie from London,” John offers. He says it because de Lamerie’s work is the very best, and he wants Sam to know that he would do absolutely anything for him, even now that their work is all done. He knows he failed in that before, was too selfish and proud, but now, having experienced life without Sam, he thinks it might be different. He would give all this up again if he had to, for Sam, though he hopes there is a way he can have both. 

“Paul is a silversmith,” Sam states, obviously thinking John has done Mr Revere some sort of disservice by opting for the imported silver.

When they’d parted ways, all their friends had stuck with Sam, they’d known him first. John’s own popularity with the people stemmed from his philanthropy, a symptom of becoming closely acquainted with Sam Adams, and it was the reason he’d been elected governor. 

This conversation has the potential to become an argument, so John pretends not to notice and asks after their friend instead. Surely that won’t become a fight, but then again, this is Sam Adams. 

“Business is booming. He’s expanding into ironwork.”

“Excellent,” John says, always pleased to hear of thriving business and growing wealth. He wants Boston to do well. “A sound business venture. People will always require iron implements.”

Momentarily, the first course of their dinner arrives, the menu carefully planned so that Sam can enjoy the best John’s chef has to offer, but in such a way that there will be no excess. He knows how Sam frowns upon overindulgence when people are still going hungry in the city. 

Much to his relief, Sam partakes in the meal without complaint, or without compliment for that matter. He makes sure Sam has his fill of wine, they both do, until the stiffness between them begins to disappear. 

John drums his fingers on the crisp tablecloth, simply watching Sam, reacquainting himself with familiar gestures, and is overcome by sentimentality for a moment.

“I have missed you, Sam. Very much.”

When he raises his eyes to meet Sam’s gaze, Sam is looking back so intensely, something indecipherable ticking over in that calculating mind of his, and it’s too much for John to bear.

“Come,” he says, rising to his feet. “Let the Governor of Massachusetts give you a tour of this fine establishment.”

Sam obligingly follows him from room to room, listening as John explains all the virtues of the building from it’s polished oak floorboards to it’s coffered ceilings.

His own eyes keep wandering back to Sam as they go, appreciating the cut of his coat, and it seems the wine has also eliminated his trepidation about mentioning Sam’s attire, because he simply can’t refrain any longer.

“That is a nice suit.”

Sam laughs, in a good way, like he’s recalling a fond memory.

“I had it made for a special occasion.”

“Oh yes. What’s that?”

“Tonight.”

John smiles back, beyond pleased that Sam had it made with him in mind, and that knowledge bolsters his courage furthermore.

“Would you like to see the bedroom? It’s quite something.”

Sam doesn’t argue, so they make their way upstairs and into the very room John sleeps in. Dreams in.

The bed is large and spread with red and gold, there is flock paper to match on the walls, and an Italian marble fireplace.

“It’s very opulent,” Sam allows, not unkindly. “All of it. I’m happy for you, John.”

“Indeed. I have almost everything a man could desire.”

“What could possibly be missing?” Sam wonders, looking around the extravagant room. John, however, only has eyes for Sam.

“I wonder that you don’t know? I think you must. It has been there between us since the day we met, has it not?”

Sam turns a smouldering look on him.

“It has been a long, hard road,” John says, closing the space between them. “And I do believe I’m completely done with fighting. What say you?”

“I say it all depends...”

Sam reaches out and pulls John’s wig off, tossing it to the floor. The thought flashes through John’s mind that it will be ruined if it’s not set on it’s stand immediately, but he lets it go, it seems they are both learning lessons tonight. 

Sam smoothes his hand over John’s hair, sending a pleasant tingle throughout John’s entire body.

“I’ll never understand why you cover your beautiful, golden curls with that thing.”

He wants to explain, tell Sam about the importance of fashion, except...

“You think my hair is beautiful?” The notion is quite touching. “I didn’t think you even noticed things like...”

“John,” Sam says, sliding his hand down to cup John’s face. “I think all of you is beautiful. I have done since the day you first sauntered into the Green Dragon.”

“I don’t saunter...”

“Yes, you do...”

And then Sam kisses him on the mouth. It isn’t slow or gentle, it’s hard and demanding, because that is the only way Sam Adams knows how to be, and under these circumstances, John has absolutely no complaints about that. He lets Sam have it his way, because that is the only way he knows how to be, always powerless to refuse Sam anything ever since that very same day and the spell Sam cast upon him, over a decade ago.

He wraps his arms around Sam, hand sliding up to tug the black ribbon from Sam’s hair. 

Sam draws back enough so they can see each other, he’s looking into Sam’s brown eyes, fingers twirling around Sam’s loose brown hair. He smiles, thinking to himself that brown really isn’t so bad at all.

“You know,” he says, giving the smile to Sam now. “You haven’t even seen all of me yet. So how can you truthfully claim such a thing?”

Sam smiles back and reaches for John’s coat buttons. 

“Then I suppose I am honour-bound to substantiate it,” Sam replies, fingers popping the first one open.

“Yes,” John agrees. “That seems only right.”


End file.
